


Wife

by Naughty_Yorick



Series: The Alphabet Game [24]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flirting, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Saves Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Sex Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:48:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27596420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naughty_Yorick/pseuds/Naughty_Yorick
Summary: “I don’t know who’s been fucking your wife.” Geralt said, “But I do know,” he reached behind him and pulled Jaskier forwards, who made a brief, startled noise of protest before falling silent as Geralt snaked a hand around his waist, “who’s been fucking the bard.”Jaskier is confronted by an angry spouse at a banquet. Geralt, as ever, has to save him. This time, he's got a far more interesting lie as to what, exactly, was keeping Jaskier too busy to fuck anyone's wife at all.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Alphabet Game [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983026
Comments: 37
Kudos: 684





	Wife

**Author's Note:**

> I challenged myself to write a fic for every letter of the alphabet. I took each letter, plugged it into a random word generator and wrote a fic based on whichever word it gave me. This letter is "W", and the word is "wife"! See more of my Alphabet Challenge on my tumblr, [here!](https://a-kind-of-merry-war.tumblr.com/post/632799468062916608/alphabet-game-master-post)

“That _scoundrel_ slept with my wife! I want him removed, immediately!”

Geralt glanced at Jaskier, who was making a very concerted effort _not_ to look at the man currently pointing in their direction while screaming at the Lord who was hosting that evening’s banquet.

“ _Did_ you sleep with his wife?” He muttered, a small smile playing on his face.

Jaskier’s eyes shot towards him for a fraction of a second. “Yes,” he said, quickly, “but I _hasten to add_ , Geralt, they weren’t married at the time.”

“Is that so?”

“ _Quite_ so. Merely… affianced.” He sniffed. “He’s a prick, if I’m being honest with you. She wanted one last evening of pleasure before being shackled to the brute…”

“And you were only too happy to oblige?”

Jaskier shrugged. “She really is very beautiful. I believe it was her sister who introduced us. Or perhaps her brother…” he looked thoughtful, for a moment. “Irrelevant. What matters, Geralt, is that I leave this event with my cock still attached to my body.”

“And I suppose that’s where I come in?”

Jaskier turned, now, to really look at him from beneath his infuriatingly long lashes. “Well…” he drawled, “if you’re offering…”

Geralt sighed. _Gods_ , but it was hard to say no to that face.

“Fine,” he said, “but for _Melitele’s sake_ keep your mouth shut. And do as I say. _Only_ as I say."

Jaskier’s skin flushed. _Fuck_. Geralt suspected he was about to do something very foolish, as the shouting man began to stride towards them, dragging the unwitting host of the party with him.

"You! Witcher!"

Geralt bristled at the brusque greeting, their host wincing behind the angry man's back, but kept his expression coolly neutral as he turned, eyebrows raised.

"I need you to remove this, this _churl_ from the building," the man spat, gesturing angrily towards Jaskier who took a sharp step sideways, hiding behind Geralt.

"I think there might be a misunderstanding about why, exactly, my presence is required this evening," he said, peering down at the raging husband. "Unless you're implying that this man..." he waved at Jaskier, who was mercifully silent, "is the same creature that's been ravaging your lands these past three weeks?"

"He's been ravaging my wife!" Shouted the man, a vein popping on his forehead.

Geralt fixed his expression as one of polite surprise. "Is that so?"

"I - yes - that _is_ so! Perhaps your _kind_ doesn't quite understand the nuances of faithfulness or romance beyond mere base instinct but in _these_ halls those are rather important. I want the bard removed!"

Geralt considered, for a moment, the consequences of simply punching the man and allowing the guards to manhandle him out of the building. But doing so would mean pissing off his employer and missing out on a considerable pay. He was sure the beast wasn’t _really_ in attendance - the corpses it left behind made that obvious enough - but it wouldn't be worth it, no matter how satisfying it would be.

He swallowed, and set his shoulders.

"When was it, exactly, that this man _allegedly_ lay with your wife, My Lord?"

The man spluttered, clearly not anticipating having to support his accusations in any real way.

"What does it matter?"

"It matters if your accusations are to be believed. I'm sure our mutual friend here," he nodded towards the host, who was now looking downright terrified, "wouldn't want to throw an innocent man into the streets, especially with a beast attacking lone travellers."

The man's face was beginning to turn unpleasantly purple.

“This spring,” he huffed, “mere _months_ ago, so I’ll ask you not to insult my memory by asking if I’m sure.”

“Truly,” said Geralt, already knowing where he was taking the ruse, “this spring?”

“Yes!”

“In that case, it can’t have been him.”

“Is that so? I _know_ that face, Witcher. I’d recognise it anywhere. I found him in my wife’s bedroom and I want him _removed_ from this event before I’m forced to, to…”

Geralt folded his arms across his chest, raising his eyebrows. “To what?”

The man stuttered, outraged, clearly aware of his own impotence in the face of a Witcher.

“This isn’t the person you’re looking for,” said Geralt, talking above the man’s increasingly loud spluttering.

“And how would _you_ know who’s been fucking my wife, Witcher? Unless _you’ve_ been—”

Geralt cut him off before he could continue.

“I _don’t_ know who’s been fucking your wife.” He said, “But I _do_ know,” Geralt reached behind him and pulled Jaskier forwards, who made a brief, startled noise of protest before falling silent as Geralt snaked a hand around his waist, “who’s been fucking the _bard_.”

He could hear Jaskier’s heartbeat fluttering, sensed the sudden way his breath caught and he stilled beneath Geralt’s grip. He waited - just for a moment - the smallest smirk on his face. The man glared at him, sweat still beading on his brow.

“It’s me,” Geralt said, finally. “I’ve been fucking the bard.”

He was sure that the noise Jaskier made - a half strangled little squeak - was drowned out by the noise of the banquet happening around them. He was _certain_ he hadn’t imagined it. He was also certain he wasn’t imagining the way his heartbeat was now thundering, or the tart smell prickling on his skin.

The man, frozen with his finger pointing at the pair of them and his mouth hanging open, blinked just once.

“Which is why I know he wasn’t sharing his talents with your wife in the spring. Because he was with me. Isn’t that right, Jaskier?”

Jaskier swallowed. “Absolutely correct,” he said, with only a little uncertainty in his voice that only Geralt would be able to detect. “One hundred percent. Was being rather thoroughly ravished by this, ah, gentleman, all spring. Yep.”

The man’s mouth snapped shut. He scowled at them both.

“Well, then.” He said, face still pink.

“Well, then.” Agreed Geralt.

With a final grimace, the man stormed away, followed by their host after a hasty, whispered apology. Geralt watched them both leave with a smile he didn’t even _attempt_ to hide.

Finally, Jaskier spoke. He did not, Geralt noted, attempt to wriggle from his grip, still facing forwards.

“You’ve been _fucking the bard?”_ He muttered, his voice ever so slightly higher than it usually was.

“All you asked was that I made sure you left this event with, what was it…” Geralt paused, even though they both damn well knew what it was Jaskier had said, “ _with your cock still attached to your body_. You never specified _how_.”

Jaskier nibbled on his lower lip. “Perhaps I _should_ have specified. Honestly, I spend all spring fucking you and I don’t even get to experience it. Although it was certainly a better lie than that awful story about the ox…” He bumped Geralt lightly with his hip, _still_ not moving away, Geralt’s hand now quite firmly pressed to his waist. “At least this way I might actually get laid again.”

The tart, spicy smell grew stronger. Geralt’s fingers twitched, keen to squeeze, to grab - to feel more. He was horribly aware of the layers of silk brocade and linen and thread that separated his skin from Jaskier’s. Judging by his rapid pulse, Jaskier was horribly aware of it too.

“So…” Jaskier finally moved away, opening the space between them. It felt wrong, suddenly, to let go of him. “D’you think you know who the creature is?”

Geralt frowned at the odd question. “No,” he said, truthfully. “I think he’s paranoid. If there was going to be an attack this evening, it would have happened already. It’s not a vampire or a werewolf or something that can disguise itself.”

“Mmm,” mumbled Jaskier, apparently fascinated. “Interesting. So…” he spun on his heel and looked Geralt up and down, his ears flushed red and his hands on his hips. “That means we’re no longer needed?”

_Oh_.

“Arguably.”

Jaskier nodded, mouth tight, eyes twinkling. He stepped forwards and dropped his voice to a low whisper, hovering just over Geralt’s shoulder. It was unnecessary, really, given the cacophony of the banquet - but the soft, raspy sound made Geralt’s skin tingle.

“So how about you go and tell Lord Whatever-his-name-was that you’ve done all you can for the night, come back with me up to that rather lovely room he gave us, and show me what, exactly, happened in the spring?”

Geralt tilted his head around to better look at him, and Jaskier raised his eyebrows, lips pursed.

“Well?”

“It was a very busy spring,” muttered Geralt.

“I’m sure I can handle whatever it is that happened,” he hummed. “Or didn’t happen, as might be the case. Or are you telling me that there’s simply too much to fit into a single evening?”

Geralt looked away with a quick, dismissive gesture.

“Oh, you’re an awful tease,” complained Jaskier, finally leaning back.

“And _you’re_ a philandering tart who can’t keep it in his pants,” Geralt retorted as he stepped away.

Jaskier gasped, outraged. “A _tart_ , Geralt? Really?” He chased after him across the tiled floor. “Where are you _going_?”

Geralt stopped, and Jaskier ran straight into him. “To tell Lord Whatever-his-name-was that I’ve done all I can.” He turned, their chests pressed together. “Or have you changed your mind?”

Jaskier swallowed, and Geralt found himself suddenly distracted by the soft skin of his neck.

“Absolutely not.” He was blushing. Geralt wondered what his cheeks would feel like beneath his hands - how warm they would be. “I’ll leave you to it then, shall I? Don’t really fancy another run in with his friend…” He trapped his bottom lip beneath his teeth. “Shall I meet you up there?”

Geralt had no desire to find the Lord and tell him he was being paranoid. The thought of a long conversation about _wasting time_ and _monster breeds_ paled in comparison to the thought of following Jaskier up the wide stone staircase to their shared room.

And yet - a Witcher’s work was never done. He couldn’t just _vanish._

“I’ll be quick.”

Jaskier gave him another quick, conspiratorial look, totally unaware of his internal struggle. “You _better_ be quick. If you’re not up in fifteen minutes I’ll be forced to fuck that man’s wife again and you’ll have to save me again.”

“ _Very_ quick.”

“Good.”

There was a tiny change in Jaskier’s posture - a shift in the way he stood, the way he held his shoulders - and then, suddenly, he surged forwards, closing the already tiny gap between them. Their lips met - just for a moment - and Jaskier had _finished_ kissing him before Geralt even had time to realise he was being kissed.

“To make sure you actually _do_ follow me,” he said, licking his lips.

Geralt wanted to reach out - to grab his arm and pull him back and show him what a real kiss felt like - but he was already gone, strutting away with that awful, intoxicating sway that Geralt _finally_ could allow himself to enjoy without feeling guilty. Jaskier paused and peered over his shoulder, giving Geralt a long, hard look, before finally vanishing through the wide oak doors at the other end of the room.

_Fuck_.

With difficulty, Geralt forced himself to turn the opposite direction to inform the Lord that he would not be attending the rest of the banquet.


End file.
